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She can complain that he never gets tired of her, that he likes to fuck her for hours, and yet remain insatiable. But she likes it. She likes that he is so obsessed with her, with her body, the way she always clenches around him like she was made for him.

“... so you better listen ‘cause I won’t say this again.” His dark voice and a hard thrust pull her from her daze, and she realizes he has been talking.

“If you ever think, and I mean think of letting another man stick his fucking dick inside this pussy, be ready to see his chopped-up body delivered to you in a box.” He leans over and grabs her hair, yanking her head backward.

“If any man looks at you with lust, breathe wrong in your direction, he will not see another day.” His cock pulses inside her, and she clenches around him, panting as he presses a deceptively soft kiss on her neck.

“And that boyfriend of yours,” he murmurs, and her heart skips, her head shaking to drive away whatever thought he is having before it takes root.

“If I ever.” He drags his words, his nails digging into her hip while his cock remains buried inside her to the hilt.

“If I ever smell his scent on you, even if it’s because of his old shirt you found in your laundry, I’ll break all his bones, bleed him dry and fuck you raw and hard while covered in his blood. ”

Slowly, he pulls out and slams back into her again, wrenching a cry from her throat.

“I swear to god, Vivienne.” His voice is a warning, a dark promise. “I’m not bluffing. I’ll kill him.”

Maybe she should be afraid. Maybe she should cry, bolt. But something about the way he says it, the sheer depravity of his promise, makes her envision it—the sight of him, drenched in another man’s blood, mounting her, fucking her raw and hard, whispering filth against her ear.

That thought unravels her and sends her plummeting over the edge. With a shattered gasp, she comes hard, her juices gushing, drenching his twitching cock.

There truly is something rotten inside her.

The sound of water settles around Vivienne, cascading from the showerhead in a steady, relentless rhythm. It drums against the tiled floor, ricocheting off the glass walls in a symphony of white noises.

Yet, even through the rush of water, she hears it—two heartbeats. One steady, controlled. The other pulsing with untamed energy. And then, there are his fingers. Skilled, relentless, teasing the most sensitive part of her.

“I am going back to Russia in a week,” Zev murmurs, his voice merging with the static noise of water.

She gasps as two fingers slide inside her, slick and unyielding.

They have been at this for hours. The sex.

She should have known. His mission was clear from the moment he asked her how many times Ian slept with her.

So twelve orgasms were his plan, each one designed to erase every memory of Ian from her body, from her mind.

And he had succeeded. Because when she closed her eyes at the eleventh round, her mind racing back to two months ago on Ian’s couch, the pizza box slightly tilted, about to fall off the coffee table, sweaty bodies slamming against each other, moans filling the room, Zev’s face was all she could see.

“Okay,” she forces out, the water slipping into her mouth, mixing with the taste of him still lingering on her tongue.

“I’m taking you with me.”

Her eyes snap open, the pleasure draining quickly from her body as the water rushes down the drain. She jolts away, her pussy mourning the loss of contact.

“What?” she demands, blinking against the spray, her pulse skittering.

“You seem upset,” he says, running a hand through his wet hair. “Why?”

For a moment, she forgets to argue. White hair, skin like an untouched snow, golden eyes burning with embers of wicked intent, long lashes dusted with droplets of water like fragile frost. He shouldn’t be this beautiful. It would have been easier to hate him.

“Dude, I have school I need to attend. My life is literally here, and oh, I’m not your possession, and you don’t get to drag around!” She makes wild gestures with her hand, fumes almost emitting from her ears.

A gentle smirk lifts the corner of his perfect lips as though he finds her reaction funny. “How many times will we have this conversation until you accept that you belong to me now?”

“For Christ’s sake, Zev, I’m not yours!” she yells.

His expression darkens, jaw working. “Are you Lucan’s then?”

“I don’t belong to either of you. Especially you.”

Zev tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “Would you say the same thing you are saying now if I were inside you right now?” His voice is low, taunting. “Because from where I stand, you only tell me what I want to hear when my cock is buried inside you.”

A shiver runs through her. The mere suggestion of it ignites something deep, something she refuses to name. Her thighs press together instinctively, seeking friction, but it does nothing to quell the ache.

“I can’t follow you to Russia,” her tone is reasonably low and clinical, like talking to a wounded animal. “I’m already a year behind. This is my final chance to graduate. And I must graduate. I can’t be stuck in high school till I’m twenty.”

“There are hundreds of schools in Russia,” he says. “Say the word and you’ll get a direct transfer.”

“Can you stop listening to your own voice for once and hear mine?” Her tone is sharp and cutting, and his eyes flash with rage. “Please,” she quickly adds in a softer voice.

He inhales sharply, blinking against the water on his face. “You are too far away,” he murmurs, voice lazy. “I can’t hear what you’re saying.”

Vivienne rolls her eyes, stepping closer. He doesn’t give her a chance to retreat as his hands seize her waist immediately, pressing her against the cool glass wall. One arm braces above her head, the other snaking down, slipping between her thighs.

“Convince me,” he whispers against her damp skin, his lips hovering over her hard nipple, teasing. “Tell me why I should leave you behind when you’re still going on dates with your former lover?”

His fingers finally slide inside her slick wall, his thrusts slow, deliberate, yet it still makes her breath catch. Then his mouth latches onto her breast, nipping, biting, sucking.

“Start talking, Vivienne,” he commands, curling his fingers inside her.

“Please,” she moans instead, the plea slipping from her lips before she even knows what she’s begging for. Is it for him to stop? For his cock to be inside her right now instead of his fingers? Or for him to let her stay, for him to never leave?

“How do I trust that you won’t spread this fucking thighs for other men while I’m gone, hmm?

” His thumb circles her clit, a low growl settling in his throat as if he can barely stomach the thought.

“On a lonely night when you are craving my cock, will you let another man shove their dick inside this pussy?”

Her eyes snap open, meeting his dark, burning gaze. “I’m not some cheap whore, you know?” she bites out, his accusation settling a bitter taste on her tongue.

He smirks, leaning in until his lips brush hers. “But you’re my whore.” His fingers pull from her pussy, only to push into her mouth.

“My pretty little slut…” He watches, eyes a mirror of mischief as she sucks greedily on his fingers, tasting herself, craving more. “Who is addicted to my tongue, my fingers, my fucking cock.”

“Yes, Vivienne Marchand, you’re Zev Raskovic’s little whore,” he growls, his arms tightening around her waist, lifting her up. Instinct takes over, her legs wrapping around him. And the moment she feels the thick, hard press of his cock at her dripping core, she braces.

“And as my little slut…” he groans, thrusting inside her. “This pussy will always be ready for me, only me.”

“Oh, god yes,” she cries, her head slamming against the glass as he pounds into her tight cunt, pleasure detonating through her, ripping her apart and putting her back together all at once.

“Keep those pretty eyes on me, ladybird,” he commands, slamming into her with ruthless precision.

“Watch what your perfect pussy fucking does to me. Watch how utterly undone I am pulsing inside your perfect cunt. Can you see it?” He pulls out only to thrust harder, catching a gasp in her throat. “Can you see your fire consuming me?”

“Oh my god, yes, yes yes,” she moans, nails digging into his back, legs trembling.

“Not God, ladybird, say my fucking name,” he utters in a low growl, voice raw as he pounds into her, each thrust harder and rougher than the last.

“Zev,” she whimpers.

“Louder, ladybird. Let the sound shatter this glass if it has to. Fucking say my name.” His pace quickens, his muscles tensing. “I want my name on your pretty lips while I fill this pussy up with my come.”

“Zev,” she gasps, shattering around him, her hot releases gushing out, dripping all over his cock, splattering on the wet tiles.

His hips jerk, muscles tightening as he follows, spilling deep inside her. He groans, his body shaking as his head drops to her shoulder, breath hot against her skin.

“Five days,” he murmurs, lifting his face from her neck. “You have five days to convince me to leave you behind.”

His fingers tip her chin up, claiming her lips in a kiss that tastes like poison and possession.

“Five days, ladybird.”